Harvest

I will plant seeds

In the barren soil

of your loneliness and

water the hard ground with tears

shed in the secret places of

your heart. My smile will burn

through the darkness and

scatter the storm clouds. I will

grow a harvest from what

you wasted and despised—row

upon row, row upon row.

Do you see the golden

grain gleaming in the noon

day sunshine, bowing to me

in the wind, the glittering

sheaves braided for My crown?

Bonnie Saul Wilks, April 18, 2011, Euless, Texas